


Bone season

by Ischa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Creepy, Disturbing Themes, Gen, M/M, Magic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dorian is in love with Death. </p>
<p>
  <i>It was kind of sick, he guessed, but imaging feeling the last breath of a person while they were coming inside Dorian's body, made Dorian hard as a rock. He hadn't ever been tempted to fuck a dead guy, but death...death was like a secret crush on a rock-star. From afar and impossible to explain to a person who didn't feel the subtle beauty and raw nature of said rock-star. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bone season

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the lovely denelian. I might expend on this story in the future.

**~One~**  
“There is a witch with red hair living in a house of bones,“ Eugene said. Dorian only listened with half an ear. How come that old Eugene was always so damn energetic after sex and Dorian felt like sleeping for hours? Half the time Dorian thought Old Eugene was crazy anyway. He had the feeling Eugene believed his old stories.   
“Are you listening, pretty one?” Eugene asked, his sharp short nails were digging into Dorian's soft pale arm. It felt like a bird hacking away at his flesh. He snatched it out of Eugene's reach.

“I'm listening. Was it a female witch?” 

“It is a female witch. The prettiest woman you have ever laid eyes on,” Eugene said.

“Does she eat children?” Dorian asked sleepily. His eyes were closing on their own accord. 

“Children, women, cats...she doesn't care,” Eugene's voice was drifting off, but it was because Dorian was falling asleep.  
His last coherent thought was: No men.

~+~  
When he woke up hours later, Eugene was gone, but that was no different than any other time. His fee was lying on the night-stand and the bill for the hotel room was already paid. Old Eugene was old-fashioned, but not a romantic. If he were, he wouldn’t' be able to pound Dorian into the mattress roughly every two weeks.   
The money was good, and Old crazy Eugene wasn't cruel and didn't demand anything extraordinary from Dorian. Mostly he just had to lie there and then afterwards had to listen to these crazy stories Eugene told. He told them like they were real. Like he had lived every single one of them. Dorian groaned getting out of bed. He still felt tender and knew only a hot shower would help in this case. He made his way to the bathroom. At least, he thought, this hotel had decent pressure. He stepped under the hot spray and just stood there for a few minutes, letting the water ease his body and then he soaped up.   
He wondered how long Old Eugene would call on him. They had been doing this for the better part of three months now and the money he got out of these trysts was nearly enough to pay for his crappy apartment and food. But Eugene seemed ancient and every time the man spent himself inside Dorian's body, a part of Dorian wondered if it would be the last time.   
He shuddered and then grabbed his cock. It was kind of sick, he guessed, but imaging feeling the last breath of a person while they were coming inside Dorian's body, made Dorian hard as a rock. He hadn't ever been tempted to fuck a dead guy, but death...death was like a secret crush on a rock-star. From afar and impossible to explain to a person who didn't feel the subtle beauty and raw nature of said rock-star.   
He closed his eyes tightly as his orgasm wrecked his body. “You're a sick little puppy,” he whispered and then grinned.   
He was what he was. And it didn't hurt anyone. He wasn't about to stab Old crazy Eugene just so he could feel his lasts breath on his skin, the shudders of orgasm and death.   
He switched off the shower, grabbed a towel and went back to the room.   
Time to get going. 

~+~  
The wind outside was chilling him to his bone. And the wet ends of his too long hair were a constant reminder of not enough time and warmth.   
He buried himself deeper into his coat. It was a solid layer against the winter chill bought with last month's tryst money, and made it to the bus station just in time.   
It was a lucky fucking day.   
He ignored the other passengers as best he could. Sometimes it was hard, and the older woman with red hair reminded him of Eugene's story. The witch living in a house made of bones. Sure as hell wasn't that hag, he thought.   
He looked out of the window, to keep himself from watching the other people. That red haired witch, he thought, she would probably be a kindred spirit.   
Someone who lived in a house made of bones must at least respect death, even if she wasn't lusting after him. It, he corrected himself. Death wasn't a freaking person.   
He should ask Eugene about her the next time. Preferable before the tiring sex, he mused, and nearly forgot to get out at his stop and had to scramble to make it out the door.   
The bus-driver gave him a look. Dorian gave a shrug and a small smile in return.  
And then he was outside again and the wind was biting at his cheeks. He started walking briskly. He needed groceries and then he would head home.   
It was, or at least seemed like, a long day. 

 

**~Two~**  
“Still letting that old dude fuck you?” Gerard asked, handing Dorian a beer.   
Dorian nodded. It was a thanks as well as an answer to Gerard's question. Gerard shuddered. “Gross, dude. Just gross.”   
Dorian didn't bother to answer to that. He knew Gerard had no problems with two (or more) guys getting hot and dirty with each other, it was just that Gerard didn't get the old dude part.   
Well, Dorian would love to find a nice looking young guy to pay for his company, but in most cases young guys didn't have the extra cash to blow (no pun intended) on getting their cock sucked regularly. They would probably be cruel and cheap about it too. No, Old Eugene was fucking heaven sent and Dorian knew it. At least Dorian wasn't slaving away at a desk from nine to five. 

“Where's April?” he asked instead. 

“Dance floor, probably flirting up a hot chick,” Gerard said with a leer.   
Ah, Dorian thought it was her night to choose then. Dorian didn't need any more details about his best friend's sex life. 

“Okay.” 

“As soon as she finds someone to take home with us, we're out of here.”

“I see, I'll have to make my own entertainment then,” Dorian moaned. 

Gerard grabbed him and hugged him with one arm, so Dorian was half leaning on him. Wasn't bad. Gerard was a solid and good looking guy. And his best friend's boyfriend. He had sucked Dorian's dick once, way back before he and April met each other. He wasn't too bad, but he also said that he preferred to go down on girls, because they didn't make him gag. For some reason Dorian had found it really freaking funny. But they had been both drunk as fuck that night and the next morning April kicked their asses and it was love at first fucking sight.   
And that's why, Dorian thought, a bit bitter still, he was living alone again. Fuck true love. He didn't need it. 

“I know you can do it,” Gerard said. 

Dorian had the feeling he wanted to add to that statement, but then April was there and with her a tiny brunette. “Dorian,” she said, falling into his lap and kissing his cheek. She smelled like peaches. It was probably her shampoo. “You're late. Again.” 

“I'm sorry, I didn't know it was one of those nights,” he said. 

“Don't be a bitch now, Dorian,” April replied. She reached back and grabbed the tiny brunette's hand. “This is Marie. And this is my boyfriend Gerard. Marie is coming home with us tonight,” she grinned.   
Marie blushed prettily. It was probably her first time hooking up with a couple, but there was always a first time for everything.   
“Isn't she lovely?” April asked. 

“She is,” Gerard said. 

“Have fun then, you two, I mean three,” Dorian said. 

“You could watch “ April whispered in his ear. 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Kinky bitch.” 

“You know it,” she said, kissing his nose and getting up. She looked at her boyfriend. “Well?” 

“Coming,” Gerard said with a leer.   
Dorian shook his head in amusement. 

~+~  
The red haired woman caught his eye because her hair seemed to be glowing. He knew it was probably the strobe-light hitting at the right angle or something, but for a second he was sure she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and then someone stumbled into him and the spell was broken. He turned around looking for her, but she was gone. He felt a pang in his stomach for some weird reason and staggered, caught himself on the bar counter.   
Maybe Dorian had drunk too much after all.   
Maybe some fresh air would do him good. 

~+~  
He leaned against the grimy wall near the back entrance and fumbled for his cigarettes. A bit away a couple was fucking hard and furiously in the shadows. Dorian lit up, took a deep drag and let it out slowly while the woman was making high pitched sounds and the guy was grunting like he was dying. Kinda…un-erotic, Dorian thought.  
He took another drag. The woman was nearing her orgasm by the noises, the guy…hell if Dorian knew. Maybe he was dying after all. Dorian’s lips curled into a smile as a stab of arousal made him weak in the knees. And then it was over. The silence was nearly too much to take. He listened, something hit the ground hard. Dorian’s head snapped in that direction.   
He saw her face first. Pale as snow, but that could be make-up. It was one of those clubs after all.   
And then her hair, red as fire, her dress long and dark. Could be black, or dark blue. He couldn’t tell in the dim light of the small lamp over the entrance door. 

She looked at him and then smiled. “Can I have a drag?”   
He handed the cigarette over, and didn't take it back when she offered it to him. She took another drag, leaning against the wall. Her arm was touching his. She didn’t feel cold.   
He had the urge to glance into the shadows there where he knew the man would be lying. He wanted to ask if he was dead. Maybe just passed out.   
She looked at him and smiled, closed lipped. Even her lips were pale and shiny and he didn’t go for girls normally, but she, god, she had something.   
He licked over his own lips and she laughed. It sounded like bells. The ones you use in a wake. It reminded him of stories about small villages in ancient parts of the world. Stakes and silver nails as thick as his fingers. 

“They use those still, behead a corpse too sometimes,” she said, throwing the butt away in a graceful arch. It disappeared in the shadows. 

“You’re Eugene’s witch,” Dorian said. It was surreal, but he knew it was the truth. She was that witch. 

“Which one was he?” She asked and his mind provided a picture unasked. “Ah, yes…still alive and kicking, I see.”   
There was something off about her, not only because she could read his mind. “Did he ever tell you-“  
The man stumbled out of the shadows. He wasn’t dead after all, but he was old. Really old. He hadn’t sounded like an old man while he was grunting in pleasure. Dorian he knew the difference.   
The man reached out to her and she stroked his cheek. “Run along now, my little rabbit, as long as you can make it,” she said gently. 

The man was dressed to impress and also like a much younger version of him. The man mumbled something that sounded like “Thank you.”   
She smiled watching him go. 

“I was pretty sure he was dead,” Dorian heard himself saying. 

“And didn’t that get you real hard?” She purred. He could feel his cock twitch at the sound of her voice. At the words.   
His brain kept repeating that he didn’t want her because he never once in his life got it up for a woman, but his body insisted they should try again. He didn’t dare to back away from her.   
She raised an eyebrow like she expected an answer. 

Dorian nodded. “Do you eat people?” 

“And cats,” she said. “They are delicious. Not as many people as you might think and still after he knew, Eugene I mean, still he wanted me, begged me to let him taste me.” 

Dorian’s mind flashed to the old man that just stumbled away. “How old is Eugene?” He breathed the question. 

“When I had him he was twenty two, of course that was ten years ago or so,” she replied. “They usually don’t live that long after. And they never crave another female body. Can’t do it. I guess Eugene found a loophole,” she smirked at Dorian. “He does get it up for you. Maybe it’s what keeps him alive.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter.   
It would explain why Old Eugene was so freaking energetic for an old man. He was fucking for his life. 

“You suck them dry,” he said. 

She grinned and it was a horrible thing. “I do. They love it. Every second of it and they always come back for more. That little rabbit? He will be back here tomorrow night looking for me,” she gave him a look. “You’re a queer.”   
He nodded. He had been called worse. Her nose twitched. 

“Your powers don’t work on gay men, do they?” 

“Not really, they work on the undecided. And besides, it doesn’t matter there are more of them than there are of you. I,” she said gently, “will never starve.” 

He suppressed a shiver. And still, he thought, and still he wanted to ask her if she really lived in a house made of bones and if he could see it, touch it, run his fingertips over a femur. Maybe this was just a really vivid trip. That would also explain why he was so uncomfortably half-hard in the presence of a woman.   
“Why the cannibalism then?” 

“Sucking their lives out of them: it gives me power, magic, but it doesn’t keep me alive,” she explained.   
He wondered if she would murder him anyway, because she had no use for him. He couldn’t fuck her, she couldn’t take his soul or life-force or whatever. She could, however, kill and eat him. And she just told him a few of her secrets. Not that anyone would believe him.   
“Besides,” she added, “I got a taste for it early on. It’s hard to break a life-long habit.” She straightened up and looked at the sky. “Time to go home, little queer.”

Something like anger flashed in his veins. “My name is Dorian.” 

She smiled. “I know.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him against her body. Her breath was cold against his cheek. Like icy fingers running down his skin. “You’re a kindred spirit after all.” And then she shoved him, laughed and was gone.   
He stood there shivering for at least half an hour more before he got a grip and went inside again. 

 

**~Three~**  
April was looking stern. Dorian had a hangover. She put a mug of coffee on his nightstand, which was her way of telling him he had to get the fuck up, and now.   
He grumbled. She ignored him.   
He swore he'd take the spare key back from her. Again.   
She was gone with a swish of her hair and dress.   
Dorian grabbed for the coffee and took a sip. Exactly how he liked it. He loved her after all. 

~+~  
She was playing with the cigarette butts in the ashtray when he finally walked into the kitchen. He refilled his mug and then sat down at the rickety table. 

“Okay. I’m listening,” he said. 

“You have any idea what day it is?” 

“Saturday,” he said, because he was out in the club with her yesterday and- the look on her face told him it was not Saturday. ”Sunday?” he asked, because he had had a weird ass trip and maybe he did sleep for 24 hours straight.

“Wanna try again?” 

He looked at his cell phone. It said Wednesday. “Oh.” 

“Wanna tell me where you have been for the last five days?” April asked. 

He would, if he could. But Dorian had no freaking clue. “I don’t know.” 

She sighed. “Did you take something? Friday?” 

“I don’t think so. I mean…only drinks. Nothing strange,” he replied. Except for the witch with hellpit fire hair and bleached bone skin, of course. But he wasn’t going to tell April that. April was more of a here and now person. The only supernatural thing she believed in was snow on Christmas. 

“Someone slipped you something?” April asked. 

“I feel fine.” 

“I couldn’t reach you for days, Dorian.” 

“And you only came by today. And it`s Wednesday,” he replied. 

She gave him a look. “I wasn’t worried until Monday evening. And then other shit happened. I just –“

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he said. 

April nodded. “Where were you?” 

“I swear I don’t know. I thought I was here.” 

“No one can sleep for five days straight, Dorian. Except people in a coma.”   
He didn’t think he was in a coma and he didn’t think he had been sleeping all these days – he was pretty sure he had been out and about. He just didn’t know where he had been. She grabbed his hand. “Let’s retrace your steps.”

“I met you at the club, you dumped me for some pretty piece of girl ass and your boyfriend. I stayed. Had a few drinks, met a woman.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“We talked outside, while I smoked. I went back inside after that,” he said. 

“And then?” 

“Had more drinks, took a taxi home, fell into bed. Fully clothed.” 

“You were naked this morning,” she pointed out. 

He was naked this morning. There were flashes of – skin. Yes, wrinkled skin and grey hair and – what else? What else? He had a splitting headache. Dorian snagged his hand away from hers and put both to his temples: pressing hard. He had been with Old Eugene. Yes. On Saturday? Sunday? Maybe. Weekend, for sure.   
“Eugene, I was with Eugene,” he said and breathed easier. 

“Oh,” April said. “You still look like death warmed over.” 

“I feel worse,” Dorian admitted. 

“Go back to bed then and don't you dare scare me like that every again,” she replied and smacked his arm playfully.   
Something inside his head shattered. He could hear it and feel it too, but he only nodded and got up. April kissed his cheek. “I'll let myself out. I'll call this evening to check on you.” 

“Okay,” Dorian said and wondered how in hell his phone was still functioning. He had been out of it for five days...but then he hadn't used it during that time.   
Something inside his head was shifting: wanted out. He needed to be alone, so he could think. He squeezed her hand and then stumbled into the bedroom again. 

~+~  
He fell into the rumpled sheets and closed his eyes. Yes, he had been with Eugene. Old Eugene had been energetic like never before and that was saying something, Dorian thought.   
As soon as he entered the hotel room Eugene had grabbed him. His clothes were on the floor and he had been pressed into the sheets.   
It had been – wrong. So wrong. Old crazy Eugene had said over and over and over again “You smell like her, you smell like her, you smell like her...” Like a mantra, a prayer, a chant. And Dorian had felt like he was being split open by Eugene's hard cock. The old man just didn't stop. Dorian had tried to push him away, but there had been no give. It had been like the stories Dorian had heard about hook-ups gone wrong and he had – the lamp. The bedside lap and he took it and – didn't bash Eugene's head in, but one hit. To the temple, just so he would stop. Just stop and Eugene had gone still and silent and his last breath was a whispered “like her”.   
Dorian had breathed through it.   
And then she was there. The red haired witch. 

“Well, it was damn time, I say,” she said, looking at Eugene's body, his corpse. His corpse, because Dorian had killed him. “He had cheated death years ago.” 

Dorian just looked at her and then he noticed the other figure. Shadowy at first than clearer, standing at the food of the bed. His heart skipped a beat. It was a man, dressed in dark clothes, his hair a bit too long, a bit too old-fashioned.   
The witch followed Dorian's gaze, Dorian was tracking the man's movements. He was coming closer to where Old Eugene was still lying on top of Dorian, his dick still buried inside Dorian. He felt – something that was hard to put into words. The man didn't seem to mind. He leaned over Eugene and Dorian grabbed his wrist. It was soft and warm. That was a surprise. 

“Oh,” the witch said and Dorian realized that he wasn't supposed to see Death, or even touch him. Maybe only dying people could see him and witches. Angels maybe and demons if they exited. Death looked at Dorian's fingers curled around his wrist. 

“Take your spoils and go,” Death said. Because it was Death. You recognized Death when he, it, he, came for you. Dorian knew it deep in his bones.   
The witch looked really miffed, Dorian thought as he chanced a look at her. 

“But-”

“Don't argue with me,” Death said. His voice was deep and calm.   
She made a gesture with her hand and the flesh disappeared from Eugene's body. It only left a pile of bones – for her house. And Dorian perfectly exposed.   
With another flicker of her hand the bones and her were gone too. 

Dorian wondered if Death really looked like this. “Most people imagine me and I come in the shape they imagine it,” Death said. “But you didn't. Can't, don't want to imagine me. So you see me as I am.”   
Death, Dorian thought, was fucking beautiful. He still couldn't say a word. Death's finger was under his chin and then he was looking into Death's eyes. Deep pools of darkness and something else, something ancient, something Dorian, maybe no human, had no words for. He nearly looked away. “And you're in lust with me,” Death said. 

“Yes,” Dorian whispered, because it was so obvious in everything he did and every word he couldn't say, in every touch, the curve of his cock: hard and straining, begging to be touched. He kissed Death's wrist then, his other hand grabbed the lapels of Death's jacket. He was kneeling in front of Death: naked and aroused and ready to give himself over for that one perfect little death. Death's jacket felt velvety soft against his cheek, the buttons that looked like they were made of finger-bones (and probably were) felt cool. He kissed every single one of them on his way up and then Death was leaning down and Dorian's lips touched Death's. His fingers gripped the lapels harder and then he was pulling, falling down into the sheets and dragging Death with him. 

~+~  
Death didn't fuck like humans do. Dorian was splayed out on the bed, a star-shaped thing made of flesh and bone. His hands gripping the sheets hard, cotton bunching in his fists, his toes felt like talons trying to hold on to something, as Death was exploring every part of his skin, his hands touching everything and then deeper: that layer beneath Dorian's skin, the fat, the muscles, the tender organs inside. Sinking his fingers inside Dorian – inch by inch. It wasn't pleasure Dorian felt, it wasn't pain either. His heart was beating so fast he thought he would have a heart attack. Death kissed his liver, at least Dorian thought it was his liver, at least he thought it was a kiss. He was screaming, hoarse screams of – not pain, not pleasure, but something so far beyond both that – Death kissed Dorian's thigh and that shocked him into his body again. He reached out, his fingers were like claws, it was hard to pry them away, but he managed. He touched Death's cheek. 

“And you still won't walk away,” Death whispered. 

“I can't,” Dorian said, but it wasn't true. He could, he knew he could just get up, grab his clothes and go. And Death would not look for him – until his time came. “I don't want to,” he admitted quietly. 

“And you might not even remember this,” Death said. “Your body will just shut down and make you forget.”   
Dorian shook his head. He would remember, every kiss to his liver, every lick to his heart, every breath upon his kidney. Every brush of fingers on and inside his body.   
Death smiled and Dorian spread is legs in a silent invitation. He needed this. Craved it, couldn't live without it, but also couldn't form that please that was screaming inside him. Death let a fingertip dance up and down Dorian's cock. Dorian shivered so violently it shook the bed. Death laughed: graveyard dirt on coffins, and sunk inside Dorian.   
And Dorian screamed. Screamed until he couldn't hear anything else, except his scream and Death's soft laugher. Nails in coffins. He was falling into the abyss of Death's eyes. He was drowning, suffocating, fighting for that last breath and it went on and on and on, hours, days – and then nothing.


End file.
